


Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story

by LittleFics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:56:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleFics/pseuds/LittleFics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger cannot remember and Severus Snape cannot forget</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Objections

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

Poppy Pomfrey was not an arrogant woman, nor an ignorant one. She admitted readily that she had accepted personal defeat on many more occasions during those past few days than she would have liked to in a lifetime- but it was high time, she decided, to stop losing.

Hogwarts was crumbling- quite literally crumbling under her rather sore feet. There were bricks falling from the ceiling, stones lying loose on the floor, blood stains on the walls, and every time somebody took a step, their footprint would get ingrained in the dust. Needless to say, it was no place for the sick- it was exactly the place for the dead- and so, naturally, when Chief Julianne Goode of St. Mungos came forward to welcome those in her bomb zone of an infirmary to the greatest hospital in England, Pomfrey had little objection.

_Little_

That objection came in the name of two patients who were injured in marginally different ways. Two patients of which Madam Pomfrey simply could not let go because if she did, it may have turned out to be yet another loss.

The girl was attacked, alone, in the eastern courtyard. She had been brutally raped, beaten, and cursed, losing all memory and struggling even for her name. Only after much consideration was it that Madam Pomfrey decided she would take responsibility for the girl, for she felt her recovery depended much more on stability and comfort, as opposed to change and efficiency. It was something Poppy thought she owed Hermione Granger- after all, she had played quite a large role in saving their very world.

The man was in a coma still, even a week and some after the battle, fighting off the poison from a snake bite- not just any snake bite, the pet of the Dark Lord. Of course, he shouldn't have been alive, but he was, and he shouldn't have thought he was going to die the villain, and yet, he did. Madam Pomfrey was watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically, her heart panged with guilt, when she made up her mind to save him. He wouldn't be going to St. Mungos where they might give up him, no, she was taking him home- she was taking both of them home.

* * *

 

_Battle Ensues at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_(May 11, 1998)_

_It would seem that Hogwarts School has not yet had its fill of trouble on the homefront. Reliable sources reveal that issues among the staff have suddenly taken more precedents over all the many abominations of war. Even before the dead lie cold in their graves, rumors are beginning to swirl- among those closest to those in command, shall we say- that Professor Minerva McGonagall, formerly Deputy Headmistress, is power-hungry for the higher post. The problem? It has also been disclosed that Professor Pomona Sprout, and believe it or not, Professor Sybil Trelawney are also fighting- kicking and screaming, we might add- for the title of Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_It's no surprise to find a brawl there. It was confirmed just last night that the school will undergo major reconstruction projects, with plans for work start beginning in June and ending as early as August! Now that's a quick turn around, and it certainly leaves us all wondering whether such tightly managed progress will be able to pay proper homage on those hallowed grounds._

_But why fight over the highest paying job- besides the fact that it is highest paying?_

_"They all have their own agendas…" Says one source, who has chosen to remain unnamed, with a wave of his hand. "Professor Sprout always went on and on about the lack of funding for the greenhouses. And once I told her I forgot to water my houseplants- she then found a reason to give me detention and said that if she were in charge, "that would be reason enough!'"_

_"Professor Trelawney thinks she can predict the future, so naturally, she thinks she ought to have the job and Professor McGonagall, well, she's just fed up with always being second in line!"_

_But what about the timing of such a mundane argument, we asked our source, how does that make you feel?_

_"I think it's sick," he admits, "really twisted stuff, that is. No respect for the dead or the living."_

_Sick? We'll leave that judgment up to you but this story isn't finished yet…_

_There are also whispers going around the world- most notably Hogsmeade, that Professor Severus Snape- current or former headmaster has yet to be confirmed- has, in fact, survived injuries he sustained during combat. Of course everything's very hush, hush, but this would throw another twist in the mix. Yet another contender, rather, a sudden hero, vying for the grand prize of remaining captain of the S.S. Hogwarts._

_Sadly, only time will tell how these events are to unfold and respectful precautions, most likely, will be taken, slowing down the process even further. As for now the fate of Hogwarts remains to be seen._

_-Rita Skeeter_

"In all my life, I've never witnessed such a blatantly disrespectful attack! What on earth was she thinking? It's not been two weeks; Parent's are still burying their children, for god's sake!" Minerva seethed.

She was pacing the length of her equally wasted office like a wild animal held captive, kicking up little bits of dust with every movement she made. The portraits were empty, having long run off in fear of the headmistress' tirade, or otherwise they would have been cursing Rita Skeeter's name too.

"I've just about had it with that woman! When Kingsley's Minister, oh when he is, I'll have him send her straight to Azkaban for treason- a life sentence and not a day less."

"A life sentence? In Azkaban?" Poppy repeated with mild astonishment. Minerva had thrown the paper- quite roughly- into her lap and she thumbed at the corners absentmindedly. It certainly wasn't a considerate piece, nor composed one, but it was unflattering, and she wondered briefly which aspect Minerva was angrier or more embarrassed about. "Surely that's a little severe."

"We have very different definitions of severe, then." said Minerva, in a cold voice. She then fell listlessly into her seat, and began to rub her temples in a manner so reminiscent of Dumbledore that, for a moment, Poppy thought she could smell Lemon Drops in the air. "Please forgive me if my tolerance for such behavior is not what it was a month ago; nearly fifty good people have died on these grounds since then."

A chill ran through the room and Poppy feverently tried to think of something uplifting to say, but there was nothing to make it better. What could she say? That she was sorry? That they had died for a good reason? That they were at peace? No, that was utter bollocks, and it wasn't anything that anybody actually wanted to hear- she had gathered that much from her days at St. Mungos. People always went around saying silly things to fill the silence at a time like that. It was a waste of air. Their attempts only made it harder to breathe.

So Poppy and Minerva remained in that horrible silence for a moment, felt the nausea and then let it pass, resigned to the fact that another wave of sickness would follow and they would just have to face it again. In the end, it was Minerva who broke the quiet. She took a deep, shuddering breath and fixed Poppy with a practical gaze.

"Have you started the evacuation of the Infirmary?" the headmistress asked, and then added as if she felt she were being quite insensitive, "Is everybody stable enough to move?"

"Well, that's actually why I came up here in the first place…"

Minerva raised an eyebrow the same way she always had when a student had been naughty and deserved a good dressing down.

"Most of them are perfectly fit to go to St. Mungos for the remainder of their recoveries, but- but I wish take Severus and Miss. Granger home," Poppy continued, "with me."

Minerva started, just started at her for a moment before lurching to her feet. "Are you out of your mind, Poppy? Take them where?"

"To my home, of course. Goodness knows we've got the room."

The headmistress continued to gawk. " _Them together?_ To your home?" She echoed. "Oh, you haven't been talking to Dumbledore's portrait again, have you? Because he's dead, that is not truly him up there- he doesn't know what he's-"

"-No, I haven't been talking to the bloody portrait." Poppy interrupted heatedly, rising to her feet as well. "I just feel, that in the case of both their well-beings, it would be better if I oversaw their care. Personally."

"But St. Mungos is the best in the country! Severus is still in a coma, for merlin's sake! There isn't a better place for them in all of England!"

Poppy tapped her foot testily on the stone below. "I think you are forgetting, Minerva, that I was once the chief of St. Mungos myself."

"And I think you're making this about something that it isn't!"

It was Pomfrey's turn to glare. But there was a limited amount of resentment she could muster, because MInerva, being Minerva, always managed to hit the real issue on the head, and this time it was no different. She fell back into the chair across from the desk with a sigh.

"I don't need your permission to do this."

"And yet, here you are." Minerva said, shaking her head. "I suppose I can hardly argue if it's what you feel best, but i'm not entirely sure it's a good idea, Poppy, after all, I don't recall them as being particularly fond of each other. And Severus- well, you're the healer- it isn't looking very promising, is it? "

Poppy almost wanted to laugh. Of course it was not looking promising- it never did in the case of Severus Snape- it never had- and Minerva would only understand that if she knew the man as Poppy did. But she did not, she could not, and therefore, it didn't matter to her as much. He had cleared his name and would die a hero, for Minerva that was enough. For Poppy it was not. He had to survive. He just had to live and see the quite literal turning point of his own, thus far, wretched life.

"Hm. I haven't saved him this many times to have him die now, Min. And Hermione doesn't remember a jot about anybody or anything… she'll just have to get fond."


	2. Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The pain was dreadful, and it was everywhere"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

The pain was dreadful, and it was everywhere. No matter how often she tossed and turned in her bed; with no regard to how loud she cried out, the absolute agony never seemed to grow disinterested with her and stalk away.

Madam Pomfrey tried to distract her. She held her tightly, and whispered that they would go far away from this place, that a full recovery from such a curse was still possible, that the torment would end eventually. But even as she cooed, Hermione found her promises impossible to believe.

She lay awake at night feeling all the vastness of misery, with its icy hand, plunge down deep into her chest and squeeze the life out of her very soul. Always, for a moment, she remained still, relishing with a shiver in the sheer torture of its grasp, and then, quite suddenly, she remembered that she no longer had a soul. She had left it back in time, a time from which she had no memory, and so it was probably still sitting there, licking its wounds, and trying desperately to crawl its way back into her veins.

Of course, it didn't help the matter that there were two boys constantly demanding to see her. Both of them seemed quite enthusiastic about her survival, and went babbling on about winning something, and getting her back to what they called the Burrow. On the second day they visited, the boy with red hair became furious, and screamed that he loved her, that he couldn't believe she was being like this- how could she not remember everything they had built together? On the third day only the boy with glasses came. He did not speak, just stared with those piercing green eyes. When he finally left, he pressed an old, yellow covered book into her hands.

"This was important to you once." he said softly, "Please don't forget about us, 'Mione."

Hermione looked down at the wretched thing in her hands. It disgusted her, not because it was old and torn, but because it signified her own weakness. She wanted to hurl it across the room, to break those vials of potions lining her bedside, to scream at the young man in front of her, _"If you were something worth remembering, I think I would!"_

She was just so _damn_ tired of being told to remember and yet, she did not throw the book- she could not- because somehow it did feel important, and whatever it was, buried far inside of her mind, told her he was too.

It was a silly thing for him to have said, but he had said it just the same, and then she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. He was hurting just as much as she was. Naturally, not in the same way, but she thought that saying one person couldn't hurt because another's pain was worse was like saying someone couldn't be happy because another's happiness was greater. She looked at the boy. He said they were friends.

"I'll try."

* * *

 

Now that it had been nearly two weeks since that night, the collapsing Hospital Wing, and the rest of the school for that matter, was left a ghostly empty as the small group shut the doors behind.

They made quite a strange procession, climbing the steps to Pomfrey Cottage. Professor McGonagall, still rather a stranger to Hermione, led the way, clasping her unbroken arm a little more tightly than necessary for proper support. Then came Madam Pomfrey who was taking cautiously small strides with the unconscious Snape floating in the air beside her. And finally there was Mr. Pomfrey, Poppy's husband apparently, sauntering nonchalantly behind them, unsure exactly of what to do or how to help. He had a long scar that ran the length of his face from temple to chin, and, as Hermione examined it, she wondered whether or not he had actually agreed to all of it. That was, an invalid and the comatose living with him in his home- or if Madam Pomfrey had simply given him that glare that, in just a few short days, Hermione had come to know as one not to invoke again.

The sky above them had been a dangerous gray all morning, and Madam Pomfrey mildly swore aloud when, at last, it began to leak. One moment it was only a mist and the next a downpour. Rain came tumbling from the clouds so abruptly that they had barely had the time to quicken their pace. The drops soaked themselves into the grass, and suddenly, Hermione froze- the smell- rainwater and grass- a flash of recollection overcame her.

In that moment, Hermione's vision escaped her, and she felt as if nothing else mattered in the world. She had to hold on to it, she had to feel it, she just had to remember. It was what everybody wanted her to do, wasn't it? The girl breathed in again deeply and then, all at once, she was seized with a terror that she could not explain. A tremor overcame her. Something was closing around her neck, her skin was sticky with wet, and that scent- it was all around her- completely ingrained in her mind.

She tried frantically to pull away from the hand that was wrapped firmly around her forearm, but she was weak from fever, and only managed to convulsive in place. It was sickening. She struggled for air, letting out a cry that startled the birds from their perches in the trees.

_"Stop!"_ Hermione shrieked, her throat was horribly sore. She continued to thrash so violently that another pair of hands came to close around her cheeks. "Get off! Stop, stop please!"

"Hermione!" she heard vaguely through the blood pounding in her ears, "Hermione, dear, it's alright- it's alright. Shh."

It felt perilous coming back to reality, even to such a soothing voice, and when Hermione finally did, she found that Madam Pomfrey was holding her face in her smooth palms, eyes flittering back and forth worriedly. She stumbled backwards, splashing into a puddle. All three of the adults were drenched, their hair beginning to lie flat against their foreheads, and Professor McGonagall had pressed her slim fingers over her mouth, either raindrops or tears, coming to stream down her face.

They were looking at her in such a way that made her quake. Complete and utter pity. It was the same kind of way that people looked at a prized race horse who had broken his leg and needed to be put down.

What had she become? _Who had she even been?_

Hermione shook her head at the ground, her heart lurching in her chest. "I'm sorry." She said. "I don't know what that was. I think it may have been- perhaps I..." the thought drifted off as a lump in her throat jolted up. She fought desperately to keep it down, " _Damn it!_ I can't know what is wrong anymore because I don't even know what is right!"

Professor McGonagall finally had to look away.

"I'm destroyed." The girl whispered.

And yet as soon as the hushed words escaped her lips, there was a jolt of Mr. Pomfrey in Hermione's peripheral vision.

"He twitched," the man said unsurely, pointing to the near corpse of Snape "Is that possible? I swear he moved, Pol- just now, I saw it, I'm sure."

Madam Pomfrey let go of Hermione, although it seemed reluctant, and rushed over to where Snape was still floating in the air, water pelting his form. He appeared dead by all means. His skin was still as white as snow- eyes shut tightly, but there was certainly something different, something to do with his lip which had curled its way into a vengeful grimace. Hermione felt sure that had not been there before.

But alas, after only a few seconds of wand waving, the matron let out a shuddering shigh of frustration, "Oh, John! You know don't have time for this sort of thing! " she threw him a nasty look and turned back to Hermione with a determined huff, "As for you, Miss. Granger- as for you, I will hear no more such talk. You're not destroyed, in fact, you're brand new, is that clear?"

Hermione nodded mindlessly, still watching for small signs of life from Snape. For some reason, she couldn't peel her eyes away from him. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks- it wouldn't be the first time…

"Now, let's get inside, for goodness sake!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading. I know it’s short but I’ve got more coming if anyone is still interested. I would love to hear what you think so far!


	3. Night Frights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

_"Repellendum malum vires. Repellendum malum vires!"_

Hermione jolted out of her slumber like a fish out of water, legs swinging over the edge of the bed before she even had time to calculate why. One step and her knees buckled underneath the weight, still so weak, and unable to manage what she thought should have been a basic human function. What a silly thing for her to do. Her shattered kneecaps had just barely pieced themselves back together- how could she have expected them to hold her up off the hard floor?

"What on _earth_ are you doing?" A sharp cry echoed off the walls below. Hermione peeled herself off the ground- innate sense to listen overriding any pain, "Are you out of your mind? You'll bleed yourself out. Stop it! _Stop!_ "

Hermione shuddered, crawling closer to the door, and trying to gain her bearings. It was dark, and the floor below her was cool, old wood. Right, she was in Pomfrey Cottage, there was man in the next room, there had been a war, people were dead, her name was Hermione Granger.

_Don't do that_ , she told herself, _don't let what's left of your bloody mind wander. Think. Listen._

The people downstairs were shuffling about, perhaps entangled in each other's arms- brawling, even. They made small sounds of discontent, and grunts of frustration for just a few moments, and then came relent.

"Fine! Have it your way- have this whole sodding household murdered in their sleep. What do I care? What's more blood spilt on my hands?"

"John…"

The man let out a horrible moan that radiated up through the floorboards. The sound was quickly followed by vicious thud. He was thrashing around; Hermione could see his seizing shadow through the crack of her door, and then the equally frantic shadow of a woman, who she surmised was Poppy. The girl's pounding heart slowed noticeably in her chest, calmed by the thought that nothing too terrible could happen with Madam Pomfrey around. She pressed her ear against the door, listening more closely when the shrieking died down.

Madam Pomfrey was panting. "It's all right," she said, perhaps without caring of the accuracy of her words, "You're all right."

"Pol," Mr. Pomfrey whispered so lowly that Hermione had to crane her neck to hear, "I thought somebody was coming. I thought it was… It could have been…"

'Shh. You've just had another episode, that's all. Nobody's after you this time."

There was groan as he pushed himself onto his unsteady feet. "But they could be after him, couldn't they?"

"After Severus? No, I doubt it." Madam Pomfrey said calmly, "And even if someone is, we have strong enough wards up here- strong enough that we don't need your blood on our door…"

"I was making a blood ward, wasn't I?"

"Trying to, at least." Hermione heard the familiar sound of bandages being unwrapped as Madam Pomfrey continued, "I shuddered to think what you've seen sometimes, John, but these attacks aren't going to get any better if you can't accept that it's over. That curse plays tricks on your mind, and you've just got to remember that we've won. That no one else has to die." She sighed, "The only thing left to remind of us of the war is that scar on your face…"

"And our wards."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled, "And our wards. Now," her night robes rustled as she crossed the room, "you've done enough damage tonight- off to bed. I fear poor Miss. Granger has gotten quite the fright."

Hermione felt her stomach drop with the weight of shock, and hot blood sprung to her face. Of course the woman had known she was awake, and of course she knew Hermione was listening. She knew everything. But why did it matter, after all? Why did it matter that Hermione held one secret of their lives, when they held every last one of hers?

Her revelation was comforting, really- that Mr. Pomfrey's mind ran away from him, just as her's did. She wasn't alone in that respect, and she certainly wasn't as mad.

The door to the girl's bedroom door swung open, and a slow, sly smile crept across Madam Pomfrey's face upon finding Hermione rooted by the frame.

"I thought I might find you here."

"You thought right." Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, "Nonsense. He was being so loud that I'm surprised Professor Snape didn't hop up and join you."

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling because it didn't seem entirely proper to joke about the living dead, or the dead living- whatever he fancied. She had to be careful, or risk feeling insensitive.

Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to mind, however. She helped Hermione back into bed with a satisfied gleam in her eyes, as if to say, _"Oh, Miss. Granger, that was funny."_ But, perhaps, Pomfrey believed in the world a bit more than the girl. For what Hermione knew of it, so far, was only rain and bleakness. It was people getting angry with her, tears welling up in their eyes, and mothers fretting over coffins.

"Is he… will he ever wake up, Madam Pomfrey?"

The light did not complete disappear from Pomfrey's face, but considerably dulled. She sighed, pulling the blankets up to Hermione's chin. "Only time can tell that, my dear, but I'm giving up on him just yet- we're far too resilient for that."

"But how will you know?" Hermione pressed on, "How will you know when time has told? Time goes on endlessly."

Madam Pomfrey looked taken aback, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her silky blue night robes rippling, "I suppose," she began at length, "it's been enough time when you stop feeling him there. When he ceases to live even in your mind."

"Oh."

Hermione gave the nurse a blank look. She did not know what to say. She couldn't say that she was quite often, painfully, aware of his presence, that she thought of him always when she woke, that his soul was never dull enough to fade away from her mind. It may startle the old woman- it always startled Hermione, after all. She felt a time would never come when she didn't feel him there in that room, and she didn't know why.

"How would you measure it?"

The girl shut her eyes and quickly shook her head, "I wouldn't be able to do it at all. It's too hard."

"Yes," Pomfrey breathed, looking down at her slippers, "yes, it is hard, indeed, and yet, those decisions must still be made." She seemed to be lost in contemplating her own words for a moment, then suddenly she broke out into a soft smile again, "No need to fret over it just now, is there?"

Hermione nodded silently, although she wasn't even sure she had convinced herself. "But what's a blood ward?"

Pomfrey sighed deeply, as if she were very vexed that the term hadn't escaped Hermione's notice. "It has to do with dark magic- blood sacrifice. Oh, it's too complicated to worry you with."

"Harry Potter told me I was smart..."

Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a hard look, "You _are_ smart, Hermione."

"Then tell me." she implored, "Why was Mr. Pomfrey trying to put one on the house?"

"Because when he is overcome, he loses his mind!"

Hermione couldn't stand to be spoken to in that infuriating way. She may have lost her memory, but she hadn't lost her wit. "That's not what I meant." she said assertively.

The elder woman let out a sputter of rueful laughter, "Very well. If you must know, it is because Professor Snape has quite a flock of enemies. Enemies that are- that are unforgiving in every way imaginable. Enemies like those who gave my husband his illness, and who put you where you are." Hermione gulped. "I can't say anything further because I want you to try and remember, my girl, but I can tell you this- you're safe here. I don't think anyone is left alive, or with the gall to come looking for him."

"And if they do?"

"If they do? Well, I've done a fair share of fighting in my day, and so have you. Now, get some rest, dear, goddess knows you need it."

And with that Madam Pomfrey was gone, leaving Hermione alone in the dark, with only her racing thoughts, and Professor Snape's heartbeat pounding through the walls in her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading, sorry it's been so long but… college. Please review. I hope to update again within the month!


	4. Ought to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

Hermione's convalescence was turning out to be anything but quiet. On one hand that was a good thing, as her emotions were far too overstretched to endure long periods of pensive silence, but on the other hand it was grim, because she found it difficult to cope with the isolation of it all, for the cottage door seemed to be a revolving scene of faces she thought she ought to recognize, and voices she ought to remember talking about things she ought to know.

The first occurrence of this feeling, like déjà vu, was when an enormous man, with long brown hair, appeared on the lawn. Hermione was so frightened, she caught her skirt up in the bedroom door in the process of slamming it shut. Luckily, that large man didn't try and come into that little cottage, but his voice was so deep that it weaseled its way in all the way up through her window,

"No change yet, ya say? Well, if 'here is- I mean, when 'here is, I'd like to see him. Oi, and tell Hermione- if that's 'ight- teller that I hope she's feelin' better, and we miss her. Ron misses her."

Then, to rival the giant of course, there was the small man by the name of Flitwick. He stopped by on a regular schedule and went straight up to where Snape lay, foregoing any false pleasantries to the Pomfreys or their house guest, for that matter. For some reason, Hermione got the feeling that is rudeness was a recent development, and that he had once been a jovial little thing. Now, a dark cloud proceeded his every step, although the girl couldn't quite figure why.

The third time it happened, Madam Pomfrey was teaching Hermione, what looked like to her, hectic scribbles or _"wand patterns"_ , at the kitchen table when a plump woman with a bit of dirt smudged on her nose appeared in the doorway looking like a lost dog.

"Pomona," Madam Pomfrey voice took a crack as she rushed to her feet, "I haven't seen you since…"

"…That night. Yes, it's- it's been a while, hasn't it? I just thought I'd better stop by, after all those things we- well, after everything." There were tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke. Pomfrey made no response. "I should have owled…"

"Hm."

Hermione watched the scene rather puzzled. It certainly wasn't like Poppy to behave so awkwardly, that characteristic came with her profession, and yet there she stood, obviously, with her old friend, and for that moment completely unable to comfort her over whatever it was she needed comforting.

"I know it was wrong to go away after it all. You and Minerva, and Horace, and Rolanda- you all needed help and I-"

"-Oh, it doesn't matter now." Pomfrey interrupted with a wave of her hand. She threw a long, mauling look over her shoulder at Hermione, and then suddenly turned back to the woman, " _Tea_ , in the garden, Pomona. You can tell me all about it there."

Much to Hermione's dismay, Poppy took her by the arm and led her outside just out of earshot. As, they were leaving, the plump woman sniffled and said something along the lines of _"a well pruned garden."_

The most recent occurrence, however, was the most jolting. McGonagall, and a woman by the name of Hooch, who walked with a terribly boyish gait, had decided to have a very loud discussion over lemonade and fire whiskey- but mostly fire whiskey.

"He doesn't seem to have much of a chance, in all honesty, poor fellow." McGonagall fretted "I only wish Poppy would hurry up and make up her mind already so we could all just move on. It's a terrible thing to go on waiting like this, getting everybody's hopes up and all."

Hooch took a long swig of her drink, sucking in the burning liquid through her teeth, _"Hopes?"_

"Why, yes."

She puckered her lips and began to trace the grain of the wood on the table, "That's not the way I'd put it."

Minerva looked affronted, "Well then, Rolanda, how exactly would you _"put it?"'_

"Hmm." Hooch took another long drink. "Do you fancy good riddance?"

There was a moment of pure silence and Hermione immediately felt the blood rush to her face even from her reading place on the couch all the way across the room. Perhaps they had forgotten she was sitting there, or perhaps they just did not care, either way Hermione felt torn. One part of her wanted Madam to come rushing down the stairs and stop them before anything unpleasant was said, and another part wanted to listen- listen for any detail concerning the man who was so mysterious to her.

"How can you say that!" McGonagall erupted, rising from her seat, and appearing ten feet tall. "How can you sit here and say something like that when he's dying in the room above you? Don't you know what he's done?"

Hooch rolled her eyes- unperturbed. "Sit down, Minerva, for god's sake." She spat. "Just because you and Poppy feel guilty doesn't change the fact of the matter-"

"The fact-"

"-He put us through hell in the past year, _absolute_ hell, and those for children who died, that was the last year of their bloody lives! Now I can respect what he did, hell, I could have even admired him if he hadn't been such a bastard about it. But he is- was- _whatever_. So just let him live, or let him die. Don't waste anymore of your hope on him, and do not try and tell me he was a good man, because he wasn't."

Gradually, with the help of these comments, Hermione began to build up a picture of what possibly had occurred. When she figured out it was Snape on who Hooch was blaming the mess– and that all her preconceived notions about him were suddenly looking to be false– her heart skipped a beat. But then she shook her head. _He can't be a bad man,_ she reassured herself, _I feel it._

She steadied herself for more when...

"Walk with me."

It was much more of a command than a question. Hermione jolted at the male voice suddenly in her ear, and felt Mr. Pomfrey's strong hand latch itself around her bicep- firm enough to lead and yet loose enough to follow as they began to move forward. It briefly crossed her mind that if the hand had belonged any other man, she would have been frightened. But it did not, and by the time she had thought through the horrid possibility- considering her recent experiences with men- they were outside, strolling along the long tree laden pathway outside of the cottage.

She liked Mr. Pomfrey. He was a good man, a man that she had more in common with than anyone in the world, it would have seemed, but at that moment, she could have hit him square in the nose for pulling her away.

" _Phew_ , that was awkward," he laughed breathily, releasing his hold on Hermione's arm. Perhaps she looked as unamused as she felt, because the smile quickly dropped from his face and he tucked his hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly glued to the ground. "Those two are a stubborn as they come- naturally, it's hard for them to get along all of the time. And Rolanda can be very difficult when she's had a bit to drink, as can everybody, I suppose, but you mustn't think-"

"Mustn't think what?" Hermione interrupted dully. "I can't think anything of something I know nothing about, can I?"

"Well, you know that's-" he came to a stop, looking severely perplexed. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, never mind."

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Mr. Pomfrey's shoulders sagged and Hermione felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She knew, of course, that he only thought he was helping. Maybe that was what he wished would happen to him in uncomfortable situations, but she had grown fatigued of the constant shielding, and was willing to feel a bit of awkwardness in order to work some things out.

"I hate being treated this way." she admitted at length, "Like I haven't got a clue what's going on. Yes, I may have lost _my mind_ but I haven't lost my ability to think."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"Do you?" questioned Hermione, "Because I feel like if you really did, you would have let me listen."

"Listening can be complicated."

"Oh, right, psh, look at me, I forgot. Everything's so damn complicated, isn't it?" She began hurtling back down the pathway to the cottage, "Too complicated for silly little Hermione! Far, far over her empty head."

"No," Mr. Pomfrey trotted after her, "No, that's not it at all. We all know you're smart, Hermione, everybody does, but you're only going to get back to your true self if you work on remembering who you were."

"And how exactly is who I used to be related to Snape?"

He sighed again and ran his fingers through his graying hair. "I suppose it's not really, not directly anyway- well, not that I know of…"

"What?"

Mr. Pomfrey groaned. He was looking decidedly apprehensive, "Poppy will kill me…" he muttered underneath his breath, "I didn't know you before all of this, but let's just say, I very much doubt that you and the Professor were friends."

Of course they weren't friends- the man was nearly twice her age- did Mr. Pomfrey honestly think he was giving her something to go on?

"He wasn't very-likable, you see, but he did this thing- this _really_ _great_ thing that you and your friends were very involved in too- and now nobody knows quite how to feel about him, especially because he may not survive."

"Oh."

The man sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets again as they walked, "He saved a lot of lives, he did, and maybe he just had us all fooled too…" he shook his head, "Well, that's all I can say about that, but I'm sure you'll remember soon, Hermione, these things take time. Believe me."

Hermione nodded, satisfied with that answer for the time being. It wasn't anywhere close to all she needed, but it would have to do.

They walked the rest of the way back in silence, but when they reached the cottage something felt off. The front door was flung open, and the flowers right near the steps were trampled and burned, as if somebody had stumbled across them and apperated on the spot.

"Poppy." Mr. Pomfrey whispered, and tore off into the house.

The absolute terror in his voice caused ice to spring up through Hermione's veins. Were those people he was so worried about back? Had they come for Snape? Would she find Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall lying dead on the floor?

Chest heaving violently, Hermione stepped up through the threshold. One of the chairs where Hooch and McGonagall had been sitting was toppled over, and a glass was shattered on the floor, but other than that, nothing else was out of place.

Hermione could hear footsteps above as she crept up the stairs. There was some commotion down the hallway which she soon realized it was coming from Snape's room. Her heart felt like it was going to thump out of her chest and still she leapt to push the door open.

All the color drained from her face.

Snape was standing uneasily by the bed while Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall both tried to push him back down. His dark eyes immediately found hers in the doorway and widened with shock or with fear.

_"Granger."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Thanks for reading and I would love to know what you think!


	5. Fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

 

* **WARNING:** this chapter describes sexual assault that may be uncomfortable for some readers*

_There were little bursts of light shooting up into the midnight blue sky above her, like fireworks but without the laughter. Cool mist drifted down onto her cheeks- it was almost peaceful and yet something buried deep down told her that those lights shouldn't be thought of as pretty. That they should be thought of as wicked- evil even, and that she should do nothing else but run. But she couldn't. She was lying, back flat on hard cobblestone, struggling with ever fiber of her being to move. Ropes were binding her there, invisible ropes, and then suddenly there was a man who smelled of mothballs and whiskey. He muttered something foul. She couldn't make out his face as he forced himself into her- once, twice, three, four, ten, twenty. She lost count._

_"See what happens when you choose the wrong side? See what happens when you trust a boy over a lord?" His words came out in between thrusts, muffled to her ears as if she were underwater, "You little fucking whore. I'm going to have my way with you and then I'm going to kill you, Granger, just- like- that, just like the Dark Lord is going to kill Potter. We'll keep it between us, you and I. Nobody will ever know. They'll be nothing left of you but a memory."_

_The lights were still going up into thin air, and though her body jostled with his increasingly violent movements, her eyes remained steady in the sky. It comforted her that it would remain there no matter if she didn't. The sun would go on up and fall back down as it had for centuries and as it would for centuries to come. As she thought more about it, the corners of her vision darkened. It was death coming and she welcomed it._

There was literally nothing she could do but lie there for a horrific moment, completely paralyzed by fear and repulsion, the only movement of her body being the thumping of her furious heart. If it could have broken skin and cut through rib it would have thrown itself right out of her chest onto the floor and scurried away. Its screeching in her ears so loud, she could hardly hear herself think.

_It was just a dream_ , she said to herself, _just a nightmare_. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, another sickening sensation overcame her, and without another logic, she threw the blankets away from her legs.

Red.

It was everywhere. All she could see was her own blood seeping thickly down into the sheets and mattress below. The insides of her thighs were slathered in it, her shins decorated sporadically, like tribal paint on an African. It was only then, regarding the catastrophe, did she felt the true terror of it all- that it hadn't been a nightmare, it was simply a memory, rearing its wicked head.

Absolute panic took her by the throat and dragged her frail body to the bathroom across the hall. She hurled the door closed behind, clamoured to the sink and then lost her footing in her haze, taking the shower curtain with her.

So there she was- a lump of messy hair, tears, and drying blood, sprawled on the tile like dirty old clothes. It wasn't until she heard a frantic rapping on the door that she realized what a scene she had made.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Madam Pomfrey's anxious voice called from the hallway. She jangled the doorknob. "Hermione, open the door."

She stared miserably at a blood smear on the tile. Perhaps Pomfrey thought she was killing herself right then and there and perhaps it would have been better that way anyhow.

Her head rolled over on it's hinge with a pathetic sob, "I'm bleeding."

There was a resolute moment of silence, she knew she had said nothing, and yet Pomfrey knew everything. There was a rustling of silk,

"John, go- no, just go! _Alohomora_."

The door swung open and Pomfrey's figure swayed with a rapid inhale. The noise was quickly smothered, however, as she fell to her knees and began waving her wand up and down the girl.

"What on _earth_ were doing?"

Pomfrey's voice fell on her ears as horribly accusing, and she continued to cry in that honestly pitiful way, tangled up there in the shower curtain and her bloodied nightgown. Poppy must have felt some sort of compassion, for she rocked back on her knees, and tucked her wand into her pocket, pulling away from any further abrasion and suddenly looking rather old.

"There now, it doesn't matter." she sighed, "The stitches have torn, that's all there is to it. I'll fetch you a pain potion and we'll get you sorted out in no time. It's alright."

"It does matter." The girl insisted woefully, clapping her hand around Pomfrey's wrist,"I- I thought it was all a nightmare but it can't have been. I know it happened, I just know it."

"Know what?" The woman's voice went a pitch higher although she was finally beginning to understand, "You remember, don't you?"

"Parts. But I can't make out his face. I don't know who he is."

And with that a grim look of realization sunk into the lines of Madam Pomfrey's expression. Her face drained of all its rosy color. The one mercy of Hermione's amnesia was that she did not have to relive that wretched scene, and yet, now she had, with a faceless man. It wasn't useless, but it seemed very, very cruel.

"Come along, dear, there's no use in this."

She lifted Hermione by the elbows, walked her bracingly into the hallway, and much to both their mortification, Snape was there. He was lingering apprehensively in a corner, only visible by the translucence of his skin.

"Severus?" Pomfrey threw herself in between the two of them, as to save the girl further humiliation. "What the hell are you thinking? Get back into bed."

For a moment his black eyes met with Hermione's, glittering with a mix of emotion, before he forcibly turned away. If it was possible for him to grow paler, he did, "I heard something, and I thought-

"- I've told you, you're not to be out of bed. Now return this instant before I bind you there against your very own will."

"Damnit to hell, Poppy!" He barked, but his chest rose and fell in short. He as left panting after his outburst, knuckles going white with his grip on the doorframe, "I'm not a child."

"Then stop behaving like one!" cried Pomfrey, " _For mercy's sake_ , I've got to get a handle on this house at night! Just once in your headstrong life, do as I say."

Snape twitched, as if he had received a lashing, but turned on his unsteady heel and retreated into the darkness of his own room without another word. The way he had looked at her sent a chill through her body. He knew something, she was sure he did, and she was going to find out what. She watched him sink smoothly back into the blackness like a shadow.

It seemed he belonged nowhere else but there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm already working on the next chapter so I promise it won't be as long until the next update. School is finally out so I'll definitely be here more. Please review!


	6. The Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

Clouds had moved in overnight, and Hermione awoke the next morning to an ominously rolling sky outside her four paned window. Lazily, she drifted over to it, only to be greeted by a rather perplexing scene.

Madam Pomfrey, clad in her blue gardening apron and hat, was carrying a basket and fighting her way up the pathway against blustering wind. She was followed closely by an unfamiliar witch, dressed in a horrible lime green robe, painfully tight curls bouncing on her head as she trotted along. A pad and large quill floated with her, near the ear. She looked quite ridiculous, Hermione thought, especially when the heel of her furry pump got caught in the cobblestone and she nearly tripped.

“Oh Poppy, _Poppy_ , dear, I had no idea you were such a recluse!” The woman positively sung, her voice carrying up through window with the wind, “ _Merciful Healer Nurses Forlorn Victims at her Nunnery of a Home_ \- a bit wordy, I should say, but it certainly has a romantic ring to it. Keep that. Oh, Poppy, just indulge us with a _teensey_ statement for the Prophet! Me, myself, and not to mention my legions of readers are dying to know!” She came to an abrupt stop with a sound like a hiccup, but then quickly resumed pace, shivering with delight, “ _Dying_? Should I say dying? Was that an ill choice of word given the circumstances? Darling, don’t keep us in such suspense!”

Pomfrey soldiered on, her lips far thinner than Hermione had ever seen, showing no inclination of panic, or acknowledgment at all, for that matter.

“Alright, touchy.” pouted the woman for a blessed moment, but apparently she was the resilient sort, “How about the Granger girl, then? Concerned? Frightened? Is it true she’s lost her mind? _Psychiatric Health of War Hero Falls to Delusion_ \- scratch that- _Madness_.”

At this Poppy halted, spinning so harshly on her heel that the other witch seemed to melt down into her robes.

“I think it’d be in your best interest if you went home, Rita, before I go to the Minister with this. He and I are very well acquainted, as I’m sure you know, and I have no doubt he’ll find a way to make you regret you ever set foot on this property.”

Rita chuckled nervously. “Surely--” she patted her chest in a fluttering fashion as if she were one of those American debutants that had suffered a fainting spell, “surely that’s a mite too far.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Well,” sighed Rita, “I can see where I’m not welcomed--”

“How perceptive of you.”

“--however, I’ve been holding on to one particularly scrumptious piece of information I think you’d like to have on hand, Poppy. Perhaps you’ll reconsider…”

“I’ll venture not.”

The blonde’s shoulders slumped with an extra dramatic flare, “Oh pity,” she droned, “I thought you’d be quite troubled to hear they’re calling for old Snape’s arrest.”

_“What?”_

Rita was smiling sardonically now, as if she had predicted this- as if every little speck of shock on Pomfrey’s face was falling straight into her great churning bucket of a plan. “Contingent on the fact that he’s still alive, of course.”

“Nonsense!” Spluttered Poppy, although the way she began tearing back up the pathway betrayed her, “Absolutely absurd!”

“May I have a comment now?”

“You may not!”

The door slammed from below, and Hermione vaguely registered the sound of the fireplace flaring up and then simmering back down. Her head was spinning far too furiously for much thought after that. Words like madness, war hero, and arrest, bounced back and forth off the sides of her skull., bringing on a frightful ringing in her head , and before she knew anything else, for some unfathomable reason, she was standing in Snape’s room.

She shuddered.

The whites of his eyes glowed back at her from his position on a wingback chair, unalarmed and appraising. Heavy curtains were drawn over the window behind, allowing absolutely no light in, and still his chair was turned away from it, placed in the darkest corner, as if it were a bottom dweller scurrying away to the deep sea. His pale body was slender, perhaps looking more like a skeleton than a man, underneath his black quilted robe, and though Hermione was aware he hadn’t seen the sun in months, his appearance just then was truly shocking.

Evidently, the astoundment was written all over her face, for Snape sucked his teeth and sneered.

“What are you gawking at?” he hissed, “Come to see Azkaban’s newest resident?”

“Azkaban?”

A short, gruff noise spewed from his lips, almost like laughter but with a crazed edge, “Right,” he said, “I’d nearly forgotten- you can’t remember a damned thing.”

An inherent heat flared up to Hermione’s cheeks, “That’s not true,” she insisted, “it’s not, and I think you know it.”

“I beg your--”

“Why were you up last night? Why were you-- why were you _lurking_?”

Something flashed in Snape’s eyes, something like fear, but it was quickly repressed and buried with a deep, satirical chuckle, “How comical. Perhaps Rita Skeeter has it right after all, perhaps you are mad,” he smirked, “I feel no obligation to explain myself to you, Granger, but if you must know, I was simply curious as to what sort of animal was outside dying across the hall.”

The girl crossed her arms over her chest with a frown, “You know I’ve heard some pretty foul things about you, but I was willing to hold out until we met before I passed any judgment. I see now that was foolhardy.”

“ _Judgment_.” Snape scoffed, “It seems quite plain to me that just isn’t correct- sauntering in here with your accusations.”

Hermione huffed, “I haven’t accused you of anything!”

“Haven’t you just?” he implored, and then waved his reaper-like hand in an unconcerned way, “You’re all the same… it never changes. The simple fact is, there are people in this world who are damned no matter the nature of the things they do. I am one of them.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, surely.” Hermione continued scowling, although, even knowing the little she did about him, beginning to think maybe what he said was true. “Why then?”

His prominent brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you damned? There has to be some reason. I don’t think the universe works in such a wicked way as to damn a complete innocent.”

Snape stilled, black eyes becoming transfixed on the floor. He was so motionless that Hermione began to wonder if he had gotten stuck, but soon realized that he simply could not look her in the eye. Then very suddenly, in a harsh flash of black and white, he was on his feet.

“You don’t anything!” he barked, frail body swaying with his wrath, “You know nothing about this life, even if you were always the smartest one-”

His words came to a stop, dissolving into harsh cough that came from the bottom of his lungs. He stumbled back into his chair, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket that immediately became speckled with blood.

The sight of him doused any anger Hermione felt. She flew forward, summoning a goblet from the bedside table, filling it with water, and pushing it into Snape’s hands, without another thought. It took a while before he could plausibly swallow it, but when his hacking died down, he gulped greedily.

“Pretty good.” Hermione said more to fill the silence, but also feeling rather pleased with herself. “Madam Pomfrey taught me how to do that.”

“I should expect nothing less.”

“She, at least, thinks you’re a good man, does that make you feel less pitiful? And, I-- well, I don’t think you’re a bad one either.”

His grip grew tighter on the empty glass, eyes raising to meet hers, and somehow she knew that she had never seen so much pain in one gaze.

“Then you’re both fools.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First Snape/Hermione conversation. It scares me… I’ve never actually written one so please tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!


	7. Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

 It wasn’t that he desired death; it was only that he did not possess an enthusiasm for life, the kind of energy that actually kept people on living. So he was sort of stuck in the middle, which was a very dismal and confusing place to be.

Poppy offered him even littler peace away from his own taunting mind. He would have been completely contented to sit there forever in the darkness of which he had been so accustomed to, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She harassed him into silly little ventures such as taking air, and exercising his sorely unused muscles. Of course, she was only trying to make up for the fact that just months earlier she had considered him guilty of treason, and murder, and perhaps things that were very much worse. Any dunce of a being could see that. But she was trying all the same. Trying with all of her good hearted soul to show him she cared. He did not, however, need such barratment to know it.

If she hadn’t cared, he would be dead, which perhaps, was preferable to this sort of life.

John stayed purposefully out of the way. It was certainly awkward for him, the man had been, by all means, hunting Severus once upon a time, afterall, and when people were trying to avoid being awkward it always made it more so.

And Granger was no better than anyone. He was always so painfully aware of when she was close. Never saying much since their previous, and as it would seem, only conversation, but just watching him with those deeply pained eyes. Usually it was a vacant glance, as if she truly were as ignorant as Poppy claimed her to be, but sometimes there was a flash of something that crossed her face, a particularly searing gaze that would fall upon him and make his blood run even colder in his veins. It was a look of realization, as if to say, _‘I know what you did’_ , but then it would pass as quickly as it came, and the girl would rub her forehead in dismay and carry herself, wistfully, up to bed.

He had no desire to speak to her. She was intelligent, far too much so for her own good. He knew that if he revealed anything to her, she may piece things together, and he would have, therefore, revealed his lie, or secret, or whatever the hell he was calling it that day. He had vowed for her never to know the truth.

He had vowed it so solemnly to himself that it hurt.

It had been a month since that morning when they had spoken, and he had intentionally thrown her off her fancy with him. He knew Hermione Granger, even the vacant version of her. She wouldn’t take a liking to him if he spoke as helplessly as he looked, and certainly not if he called her a fool for having a shred of belief.

That much was true, perhaps. Even if she was bright, she was also a fool.

A beautiful little fool, with a pain he felt all too sincerely. The kind that would catch him in his sleep. A pain he had first felt shortly after he had awakened to find her thrashing around on the bathroom floor leaking the crimson liquid of her own youth.

He thought it was possible she felt it too. Whenever he lie awake at night, unable to sleep, memories and nightmares becoming intertwined under the stars, he would hear her sheets rustling from the other room. And sometimes when he had finally decided to take a step out of his room, she would be there on the landing, looking puzzled about where she was standing, and yet not surprised to see him at the same place, at the same time at all. This happened frequently. And one evening, as she was coming up the stairs, and he was arduously going down with his gait, she stopped, and stared him up and down.

“You’re not going to Azkaban so you can stop feeling sorry for yourself now.” said Hermione, “The Minister came by today, and he says so.”

“Does he?” He drew with a sneer, stepping down to continue on his way, but she slid in front of him defiantly. Severus chuckled- not that _was_ truly amusing, “I may look feeble, Granger, but I promise I’d win against you.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t you know about the things I’ve done?” He asked, although he felt rather silly after he had said it. It seemed a mite melodramatic, even for him, and for a moment he was afraid she may laugh, so he set his jaw, attempting to look as searing and yet as unconcerned as possible- a facade which he had mastered many, many years ago, “Well?”

Hermione crossed her arms, “Of course I don’t- I’m not allowed to, remember? Anyway, I _don’t_ care. It doesn’t matter now.”

Severus sighed purposefully, his body already growing weary under the meager weight he carried. He was bluffing and Hermione knew it, and she pitied him, and she begged him with those horribly, troubled eyes to tell the truth- whatever truth left in the world there was to tell. She thought she could get it from him because he was weak, and weary of life, for the people nearest to death always had a way of handing away their souls.

There just wasn’t enough left of his to give, whatever she believed, and whatever she didn’t..

“What do you want?” he asked still.

Her eyes quickly flittered over his shadowy form, hunched over, and frail, trying desperately to look as alive as a dead man could seem. And then she simply made a noncommittal noise, as if to say _‘You know.’_

Snape shuddered. His nerves were in absolute shrivels by now. He had stood before Voldemort himself and still had never felt quite so abused. How was she doing this to him? How did she make him feel like she had cast a bewitchment over him? He just wanted to go lie down in his darkened room once again and press his palms over his ears so hard that that noise would ring in his head anymore. He didn't need this. He didn’t need her watching him. He didn’t need to say anything.

And then his lips betrayed him.

“I have no doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for someday.”

“Where?”

“Probably in me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the wait, I’m really having trouble with this story, as you can probably tell by this chapter… I’ll try and do better next time. Thanks for reading though! Any comments/criticism would be very helpful.


	8. A Love Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

They went down to the brook behind an army of birch trees, where sunlight danced through the leaves and glistened off of damp stones. It was the first place she had thought to take him, for just yesterday, Mr. Pomfrey had been telling her that it was a very beautiful place to just go and think.

Ron however, didn’t need to think. Yet she had dragged him down to the quiet bubbling of the water, and he hadn’t the heart to resist her. There was so much weight on chest that the air he would have used to protest had been squeezed out of his lungs, and smothered in his throat- not that he had ever been able to resist her anyway.

In the end- because he would do anything for her, he settled for a rigid silence that made him squirm. He could see that’s what she wanted, so there they sat, among the stones and the trees, and the brook.

“I know that this is hard- so hard, Ron, but I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” Hermione relented at last, “Please don’t be angry with me. You have to believe that I wish with all my heart I could.”

“Could what?”

Hermione fixed her gaze on his, “Love you,” she said simply.

For a moment, Ron was mortally afraid that he was going to lose his balance and stumble into the brook. But he didn’t. Instead, he spun to face the trees, chest throbbing, willing himself with all his might to calm down and accept that horrible, wretched truth. _‘She doesn’t love you anymore.”_

“You’re upset.” Hermione sighed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, still unable to face her, “Of course, I’m upset. The person that I love more than anything in this world doesn’t feel the same way. How could I not be?”

There was another dreadful, almost painful, silence. Hermione stepped forward, as if to cross the cavernous void between them, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve said everything that matters.” He spit.

“Ron, I asked you not be angry…”

At this he spun back around. The expression in his eye caught her as a wounded animal, only more dangerous because of the pain. He reached into his pocket and produced a small ring, which he held out in front of her nose, quite obtrusively.

“I’ve been carrying this with me ever since the night Mad-Eye died- over a year ago, now. It only seemed right to ask you, seeing as how life is so short and unpredictable, and unfair. Yeah, _fucking_ unfair. I never knew why I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but now I see.” He raged on, a vein in his neck bulging,

“If I thought for one single moment that you would have actually been my wife, I was only fooling myself. It’s almost funny, really, that things never seem to work out for people like me. Some bastard is always there to wipe your soulmate’s mind so that every last memory she has of you is lost forever. It’s a prison. I never knew I could hate it so much to love you.”

He flung the ring into the earth below, while she flinched.

“Oh and I’m not angry, Hermione,” he continued, his voice had lost its sting, and gone wobbly with tears, “I’m heartbroken.”

She barely registered the crackling roar of him disapparating away over the sound of her own heart thumping in her ears.

Perhaps it was breaking too.

Tears welling up in her eyes, she bent down to retrieve the ring that Ron had carried with him so long, and slipped it into her pocket. It felt foreign pressing against her skin, yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave it there all alone to rust. Even if she, too, had given up.

Her eyes were still swollen when she reached the cottage, and she nearly managed to stagger in, with all intentions of locking herself up in her room and never, ever coming back down, but Snape met her in the back doorway, carrying a mug, and a copy of the _‘Daily Prophet’_ in each hand. His face took on a strange expression.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Hermione hissed, her voice so venomous and sudden that she surprised herself.

“Like _what?_ ”

“Like you’re pleased.”

Snape breathed out of his nose shortly, gliding across the patio to sit in a sun-baked chair, “You’re crying because some imbecile loves you.”

“No, I’m crying because I don’t remember that he does!” She shrieked, “And he’s not an imbecile!”

“To each his own…”

Hermione groaned in frustration. “Oh, I don’t understand a thing about you! Why are you even here? Why are you _always_ here? I’m so tired of meeting like this- just say what you’ve been wanting to say or leave me be- please!”

Snape nodded, set his jaw, and picked up his paper with such an unconcerned air that Hermione laughed aloud.

“See, you don’t know anything either.”

“Now you’re wrong, once again.” He said calmly, taking a sip from his mug, “I do know a thing or two about love- as surprising as that may seem. You’d never believe how much I know about it, Granger. I know that it hurts even when you don’t think it should, perhaps even when you can’t remember why it’s hurting, it still does. I know that it can bring you to your knees, or your destruction with its madness.”

“So love’s all about pain, then?”

“No, but that’s how it always ends one way or another.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to hold the anger in from leaking out and dissolving into pity as it seemed prone to do with Severus Snape, “What happened?”

The muscle at the base of his jaw flinched, his knuckles going white around the paper in his clenched fist, “I wasn’t good enough, and it was all my fault.”

She pursed her lips, “It couldn’t have been _all_ your fault.”

“Oh, it was.” he said, “And I’ve never forgiven myself for it. My penance is paid every single day when I wake up and think of what might of been. Don’t make the same mistake, Granger, even if it is a Weasley.”

“It’s different for me,” she sighed, ignoring the dig, “I can’t remember a reason to love him.”

“Perhaps there will come a day that you will.”

Hermione detected a note of fear in his voice, or maybe sadness, it was hard to distinguish a difference, but something was there all the same. She went and sat in the chair beside him, and still he would not look her in the eye.

“I’d be lying to myself if I thought that was true.”

Snape grumbled, shifting a little in is seat, “If there’s one thing I know, it is the more you practice telling yourself a lie, the more you believe it, and eventually you come to a point where you aren’t really lying anymore.”

“That’s not a very pretty way to look at life.”

He shrugged, “It may not be, but I’m afraid you’ll find it very true.”

“You’re a very depressing person,” she said, eyes narrowed, but with a glint of humor in them, as if she very much liked the disposition, “did you know that?”

A ghost of a smile pulled on the corners of his lips, “Well, I have a _reputation_ to upkeep, haven’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for waiting, school has been rough. I’d really love to hear what you think about this chapter! Please, please tell me what I can do better!


	9. Monsieur Chevalier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shot up against the crystal blue sky like a rolling thundercloud, looking sorely misplaced and wholly aggrieved. It seemed to quake with the swirling October breeze, wailing mournfully as it creaked back and forth. Hermione lingered under the thing’s massive shadow, wondering how she could have possibly ever been happy here- how anyone could have for that matter. It did not seem possible, not with the wind moaning so willfully at her through those gruesome holes in the walls.

But that was a question she was likely never to know the answer to, and she knew it well. If there was one thing she had learned from her whole experience it was that losing all memories was like a death in itself, because memories were the whole purpose of life in the first place.

No, now Hogwarts was simply an eerie shell of a thing to her, perhaps even a ghost. Poppy must have thought bringing her there would have given her memory something to claw back, but it hadn’t, mostly it just frightened her.

With a gulp, she stumbled out from under its shadow and back to the center of the entrance courtyard where a small crowd stood- the staff Hogwarts had left, a tall man made fully of angles and the Minister For Magic. Severus was watching- he stood at a safe distance away from the group, a new shade of white, all the muscles in his neck quivering. Hermione grimaced when she saw him, inching a little closer to Poppy. It never failed to shock her how out of place he looked in the daylight, but just then it was especially jarring.

“This is Mister Chevalier, everybody.” Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice suddenly drew her attention away. He had tilted his head towards the tall man made of angles, “He is one of the most accomplished architects of this day and age, so keeping this in mind, I have commissioned him to erect one of his creations here, in the very center of these grounds, to commemorate those who gave their lives for our cause.”

Mister Chevalier bowed lowly, “Zank you, Monsieur.” he said in what quite easily could have been a phony French accent and proceed to lapse into a meandering monologue about his muse, and loss, and grief which left everybody shivering slightly and wishing they were anywhere else in the world but there, “--and wizout further ado,” he said finally, “I present _‘Les_ voces _de la_ flamme _éternelle’_ \- Ze Voices of Za Eternal Flame.”

The ground below them began to shake and crumble down into the cracks that were forming. Everyone, save Severus, took a collective step backward, watching intensely as a large marble fountain ground its way up from the depths of the earth. As it happened, it wasn’t much of a fountain at all. There was a roaring violet-orange flame that took the place of water which circled each teer in an upward fashion. The flame seemed to be whispering. What it was saying, Hermione did not know, but it appeared everyone else did. They were all staring, leaning in, completely mesmerized- almost looking as if their brains had spontaneously short-circuited.

“Ze dead whisper zeir own names in zeir own voices- it completely surrounds you. It will burn for az long az anyone remembers zeir names.”

As a wave of realization washed over her, Hermione noticed Snape flinch out of the corner of her eye, and tear down an adjoining pathway. Her heart rate spiked so violently that she stumbled backward. For a brief moment she considered the fact that she may be having a heart attack, but then, with a sour taste in her mouth, she remembered that she was always just as painfully aware of what Severus Snape was feeling as he seemed to be about what she was.

Poppy took her by the arm. Hermione had never dreamed of seeing her cry but just then she had tears in her eyes. “What is it, dear?”

“N-nothing.” She stuttered, pulling her arm away from the woman’s study grip and giving her one of those undemonstrative shrugs, “I just need to walk.”

Hermione stalked off in the opposite direction that Snape had, not necessarily because wanted to avoid him but to escape any allegations that may be caught in Poppy’s eagle-like, web of a gaze. She had nothing to hide, of course, but something told her it was in the best interest of them all if she kept to herself, especially now that she and Snape had forged somewhat of a friendship- if one could call it that.

She found such a thing equally, if not more, as strange as it was comforting so she walked away, losing herself in the loveliness of the grounds, for beauty was much better when it had been taken ruthlessly.

Hermione’s footsteps slowed as she suddenly found herself approaching a great sweeping lake. She didn't know _why_ she’d walked down there, or how she had even _managed_ to find it. Half an hour before she had felt as if she had never seen the castle in her life and now she was walking its grounds as if she knew them like the back of her hand. Then she saw it, the reason why she was there, and she fought the urge to let out one great, big cynical laugh.

Snape was sitting on a stone bench looking out onto the lake, twitching sporadically, although seemingly regaining control. There was a faint glow of sunlight bouncing off the water; the only sound an occasional animal lapping around.

“I just need one moment’s peace, Granger!” Snape barked without turning to face her, “Can you not give me that?”

“No,” Hermione replied quietly, her awe that he had even known she was there directed more towards herself than him,“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

Severus could not see the point in nodding. He had just as well told her that he did- not in those exact words, of course- but he didn’t think she was such an idiot, or at least he used not to.

He turned to face her. It seemed as though she was expecting an answer. She was staring at him so intensely that he thought he could hear the gears grinding in her head, and such a look of calculation did not become her.

“Well, _you_ knew I was here.”

“ _I did not!”_

“Yes, Granger, you did.” He scowled, vaguely aware that he sounded like a child arguing over a game of chess,“You went the very opposite direction. If you hadn’t known where you going you would have landed yourself at the greenhouses _directly_ on the other side of the castle.”

“How did you know that?” Hermione’s voice cracked as it rose two octaves, “That I took another path?”

His eyes rolled, suppressing the urge to ring his ears, “The same way you knew where the Great Lake was. It’s not that complicated to understand.”

“It seems rather complicated to me.”

“I don’t think so.” He replied curtly, “You know what _else_ I think? I think you’ve known for quite some time--”

“--well if _you’re_ so sure why don’t you tell me what’s happening here?”

“I am not _‘so’_ sure, Granger.” Severus said slowly, drawing out every syllable in a condescending manner, slightly vexed and slightly amused, “I understand what’s happening, I know we are connected, I just don’t exactly know why.”

“You’re lying.”

“Oh, it would be much simpler if I was.”

It might have been, at least behind every lie there was some sort of truth. Hermione huffed and fell onto the bench beside him. He teetered uncomfortably.

“We should tell Poppy.” said Hermione reasonably, “She always knows what to do. She could fix us.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He sneered, “Do you realize how outrageous we sound? She’ll have you institutionalized if she thinks for one second you actually mean what you say. Things like this don’t happen. Not even in the Wizarding World.”

“She _would not!_ ” Hermione exclaimed, then she sighed and bit her lip, “But it does sound mad.”

“Finally a sensible thought.” Severus breathed out steadily. “I promise you I’ll find a way to sever the connection, I just need some time.”

Hermione nodded, eyes falling back to the lake. She felt almost peaceful for the first time since she could remember.

“It’s hard to feel what you feel.” She said at length, breaking the silence, “I think it's getting stronger by the minute. Just today, when you heard those voice, I knew exactly what you what you were feeling. It nearly made me sick.”

Severus felt a knot of anxiety tie itself around his throat. He knew he would need to work quickly too if he was going to shield her from the truth. She was intelligent even if she didn’t know it, and this attachment was stronger than he had originally thought, “What was it?”

“Misery- because you survived- because you always survive, and they didn’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! I’m sorry it's been so long- muse is suffering. I would really love if you dropped me a review or message, it honestly motivates me to keep going with this story! Hopefully I’ll be on more now that school has slowed down and I actually have a little time on my hands. Thanks again, hope you liked it!


	10. A Friend Called Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> *Many thanks to Numina for the editing of some of this chapter. They have been extremely helpful and hope to be mentioning more in the last few chapters of this story*

**Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story**

 John Pomfrey knew how to act calm in the face of danger. In all his time in the Order, and as an Auror, he had stocked up on so many brushes with death that it sent shivers down his spine to think of all the times he had narrowly slipped its icy grasp. In the end, almost all cheaters feel some sort of guilt.

Still, death had been quite a good friend to him. There was a time in his life, before his injury, when John could command death so seamlessly that his peers and enemies alike had come to fear him in the kind of way a muggle fears his own God.

Not that old John Pomfrey would have hurt a fly if he did not have to.

He had sent his friend death to some of the greatest scum of the earth-the killers of the innocent, the tainters of the virginal, the vilest of the evil, and still, it would often pain him to know that it was they who had been visited and not himself.

It had always been difficult for him to accept that to pay for another’s sins, you had to commit your own.

Yes, death had been a friend to him in an omniscient sort of way, because if it hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t be standing there at that moment, watching Severus Snape pour over some dusty old book. If John had acquired no such friend, he would have been the one to kill him.

 

* * *

July 1, 1997

Colors were beginning to appear on the horizon – little warm rays of light streaking their way through the pale violet sky. That morning, the sunrise came slowly as if it was fighting desperately not to tower over that new day, in a new month, of a new world. It suddenly seemed mortal, it was screeching up- Albus Dumbledore was dead.

_Dead_

The more John repeated it to himself, the less it seemed it could possibly be true. He had fled from the Ministry upon hearing the news, sure that he would never return, and taken up a steady pacing in the living room of Poppy’s quarters at Hogwarts.

There had never been a silence quite like that in all of his life, where the ticking of the clock sounded so loudly in his ears that he thought they may burst, and yet, he almost wished he could drag the moment out forever- pacing back and forth in his own damning silence, never having to suffer the ugliness to ensue. He had seen enough war to know they had just begun one- curse or no curse, that was a piece of knowledge he would likely never unlearn.

No amount of his wishing would convince time to stop. Poppy appeared in the doorway, the watery light of the morning caught and held fast in her crystal blue eyes, and John just stood there, unable to hide his astonishment at the utter, unkempt nature of her appearance. Her cap and apron had disappeared entirely, her dusty blonde hair fell out of what was usually a ridged bun in tresses, and the first three buttons of her dress had come undone. She looked like a person caught in the middle of deciding which way was up and which was down though not knowing she was doing so. It was unlike her.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” said Poppy.

John blinked back more surprise, “Where else would I go?”

She shrugged so offhandedly that he quickly decided it did not suit her at all. “Some sort of -- _raid_ , I suppose. You know how you are, always heading off to battle in the heat of it...”

“I doubt the Ministry will have the use for such matters from now on. At any rate, I haven’t been cleared- you know that.”

“I would never have thought _you_ did.” she replied simply and floated away from the doorframe to her chair with the air of utter deflation, “It seems I’ve run out of calming draughts. I see I’ll be making those myself from now on.”

John felt an immediate swell in his chest at her mere allusion to the man, almost like a bloodhound when he gets the first scent of his hunt- hungry.

“Snape.” He sneered, the name dripping off his tongue like tar, “He can’t have gone far. If I start out now--”

“--What are you talking about?” Poppy sat up straight, and then sighed her way back into her limp form “Oh, John, sometimes I think you haven’t got a shred of sense in your head- you don’t even know your own name sometimes, how do you expect to hunt him down of all people?” she asked softly, her voice void of all callous, “He’s just killed Dumbledore.” John flinched, “ You won’t find him and even if you did, you certainly won’t arrest him, nobody is likely to…” she shook her head in dismay, “I always knew he was a smart boy, but I would never have put him to this. Well, I thought I knew him.”

_“Boy?”_ John scoffed, “Is that what this is about? Let me tell you, that’s not a boy, Poppy, that’s a criminal, a murderer and he’s just taken the greatest weapon we had to fight this war with.” He strode over to her and took her by the shoulders. “Aren’t you frightened?” Her eyes filled with tears, “ Aren’t you angry?”

“I can’t be angry. My heart is broken.”

John's stomach sank, if possible, even further. His mind flashed back to the first time Poppy had mentioned Snape, then just eleven years old, the little boy who had the cruel, bitter-hearted father with the breath of whiskey, and bruised knuckles, and then he thought of all the nights she had cried herself to sleep over him.

They had no children simply because they had never desired to, but she must have felt as every parent does for their child, John thought because that was the first time in their long marriage he did not understand her. His hands were still clasped around her shoulders- her frail, exhausted shoulders, and a thought that pained him more than anything in that ugly world suddenly struck.

“Don’t tell me you still love him,” he said, “not after tonight, because whatever comes next it would be easier if you didn’t.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck a sobbed, never saying a word and yet giving him all the answer he had so dreaded to learn. Betrayal was its own sort of evil. There was nothing else in the world that plunged into the soul and killed quite like it.

Severus Snape had broken her heart, and so he might as well have nailed his own coffin shut. That kind of pain was beyond any realm of forgiveness. John swore to himself then and there that he would find him, and he would end it, nothing of mortal design would stop him.

* * *

“Light reading?”

Severus momentarily glanced up from the book, taking but a second to hold John’s gaze and throw it away. That was something he had always been good at, emitting displeasure without really making an effort to show it. He supposed it was a trait he learned from his mother - he recalled that her facial expression never changed while his father beat her - the only thing painted on was that dead look in her eyes.

“I took that out of the home of Marmaduke Bernard after we arrested him... that had to be twenty years ago now…” John pressed on, obviously willing to suffer through another awkward exchange, “Interesting stuff, isn’t it? Poppy likes to collect that sort of thing but I think it’s rather spooky to have about the house.” He paused. If John thought he was getting a response to that, he had been sorely mistaken. “All kinds of dark magic in that one, isn’t there? You begin to wonder how anybody could find a use for half of those spells in a lifetime.”

Severus cleared his throat, “I do not wonder, Mr. Pomfrey.”

“Well now, I didn’t mean--”

“-- I know what you meant.”

_“Do you?”_ John prompted so coldly that Severus nearly jolted at the sharpness in his voice.

A quick, buzzing realization dawned on him- this was the John Pomfrey of whom many of those in Voldemort’s army had been hesitant, even frightened to face.

Severus forced his eyes to stay locked in John’s, finding a fire in his gaze that he had heard about only from those who had survived an encounter with the man, and yet, Severus felt it wasn’t exactly thrown in his direction, it was lit by something deep inside John that was unseen- it was, perhaps, self-loathing- which was no less terrifying and certainly no less exhilarating.

“Can we speak plainly, Severus?”

“Aren’t we just?”

John scoffed, “Don’t you think it’s about time to drop the facade?”

“It’s not a facade.”

“It is.”

“How do you _know?”_ he drew nonchalantly, “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re still a master at reading us. If you were, you wouldn’t be sitting here at this exact moment.”

“So why don’t you tell me, then? Just where would I be?”

Severus felt his blood run cold- mostly for Poppy’s sake- up until just then, he had sort of been enjoying John testing him– after all, it was much better than all those months of infinitesimally small and pointless spurts of words John had strung together into conversation just pretending he didn't really know or care about anything to do with the war, or avoiding it which was rather the same. No, in a way it was nice to feel truly hated again- comfortable. But as pleasant as that was, the feeling had quickly disappeared,

“In the grave,” he said shortly, and then all of a sudden a wave of anger rose up from his very core, “You’re beginning to remind me of Dumbledore and just when I thought I had finally ridden myself of him. You know so little about what happened, and who exactly you were dealing with, and just how _lucky_ you were to get cursed when you did, that it is almost comical!”

The air stilled around them. For a moment, Severus thought John might leap across the table, wrap his hands around his neck, and strangle him among the bookshelves, but he didn’t. He just stood there, the sound of his relent clawing its way out almost audible.

“Oh, I know how lucky I was, Severus.” said John at length, “I know that if I was half the man I used to be before the curse, I would have tracked you down and I would have killed you like the animal I thought you were. And I know that this whole damn thing would have been different and Poppy would have never, _ever_ forgiven me, for no matter how much we all wanted you dead, she never once stopped loving you, and I could tolerate a world of Voldemort's before I could tolerate that. So yes, I know I’m lucky and do not wonder how I know you’re not such a mean bastard, after all, my wife could never love someone so much that wasn’t good inside.”

John strode to the doorway, and with the handle in hand, he paused, giving Severus a look of mixed hostility and sympathy.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry, for everything, and that I think it’s time to be good, Severus because you are.”

When the door had closed behind him, Severus lingered lamely behind the desk, trying to avoid the sickly sensation of prickling at his eyes. He hadn’t cried since Lily died and had only ever once considered it since, but John was right about it all and he found himself biting back all those quivers of emotion. Severus would have never thought such a simple word could have become so complex, but it had- _good_ \- it was all over, it was time to be just that.

Severus knew what he had to do and it didn’t involve any further investigation into tall tales and dusty old books, in fact, he thought he had known all along. It all started and moved about her, it had always her. Hermione.

The only thing he could to be good was to give her the absolute truth. She was owed that.

Severus bolted from the study. He knew it was going to be messy and he knew it was going to be exhausting- not exhausting in the pulse-quickening way that Hermione _usually_ exhausted him, but in the way where his hands began to shake and he forgot all the well-worded explanations that sprung to his mind.

In his search, he opened the door to the garden to find her standing right in the middle of it, as though she had been waiting for him all along. She was so pale that without the mess of curly brown hair swaying in the breeze, she could have been mistaken for a lovely ivory sculpture.

“Hermione,” he strode forward, her appearance falling on blind eyes, “ I must tell you something.”

_“I knew it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for being faithful to this story. I know I’ve been offline for a long time, but I really want to give you all and this fic the ending deserved. I hope to have the next chapter soon, but no promises- my muse is a fickle thing. I would love to hear any comments you have on this chapter! Anything criticism/ praise helps! Thanks again.


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